A Field of Birds
by Long Tongue Liar
Summary: It is the year of the 25th Hunger games, and the terms of 1st Quarter Quell will shock everyone. Original characters.
1. Chapter 1

I have no one left to kiss goodbye but a bird that lands on my windowsill. It regards me with black, beady eyes as I straighten the cream hem of my dress. The dress is dirty, smeared with dirt and wrinkled from being stuffed in the back of the closet. If my father was still alive he would have rolled his eyes at me standing in the mirror, tugging on it and huffing.

I've never liked dresses. In fact, I've always _hated_ them. My work is in the lumberyard in dark wash pants and sweat-stained top.

Pretty isn't really my thing.

So I don't bother with my hair, I let it hang in messy blonde waves to the tops of my shoulders. And I don't bother to try and scrub the scent of wood shavings off my skin. I don't straighten out the dress. And I refuse to try and make it look like it suits me. The sleeves are too small and the sinewy muscles in my arms stand out too aggressively. The waist is bunched up and billows around the lean plane of my stomach and the narrow width of my hips. I look like some kind of blonde animal blowing around in a white burlap bag. Satisfied with this impression, I leave the hut I used to share with my father and two older brothers.

The empty swing of the door startles the crow off the windowsill. I turn my head over my shoulder and narrow my eyes into the shadows. The chair at the table where my father used to sit and carve wood sculptures to sell at the market is dusty. I haven't touched it. And the fireplace where my brothers use to stretch out after a long day in the yard is full of ash.

An accident on the job took all of them from me. One freak accident. One misjudged angle. My family –gone. I was working that day too and when I heard I just kept going. Chopping, hacking, sawing. That's what you do in District 7. You just keep going.

The door closes and I step into the dirt. I hear a lot of tears walking down to the square. Children throwing fits in little houses, tender embraces on doorsteps, quiet whimpers of the ones who are too old to cry but can't help themselves. I don't have any friends. I don't have a family. I don't really have anything to mourn or fear for. I walk by all of them with my head held high and find myself in the jumble of bodies at the center of the District where the stage and screen have already been set up.

"Calla."

I turn at the sound of my name. A girl who works in my section at the lumber yard grabs my hand. She was never built for work in the field. She's slight of figure, doe-eyed and has arms like flower petals. Standing next to me she looks just like a lily whereas I'm the blonde beast, the powerful, scathing presence. We're not friends. But I help her with her load time to time so she doesn't fall behind. I out-muscle her in almost every regard. Except that she's always smiling. And I think I've forgotten how.

"Hey, Theta," I murmur.

I look over her shoulder and find the green-skinned escort for District 7, Pastel Ivory, with her wild blue hair up on the stage. I try hard to find any emotion worth feeling.

"You okay?" Theta asks with mild trepidation.

"Fine," I fall silent for a moment before remembering my manners, "You?"

"Nervous," she says. Her head drops and dark curls sweep across her face.

I have no condolences to offer. She's young and her name isn't in the jar as many times as mine is, but we both know that means nothing. So I don't waste my breath. We lose each other in the crowd and I come to stand in the center of a group of nervous young women. Most of them are more well-put together than I am. Then again, most of them had mothers to nurture their femininity. I never met mine. I went right into work and knew how to wield and axe by seven.

The screen shows the Capitol seal. The blue haired escort takes the stage and the cameras fixate on her. District 7 falls silent.

"Welcome, welcome!" she says in her crisp, tight Capitol accent.

I fade out. I try to remove myself from the square as I do every year. I hate the terrified looks and the still fresh tears. The woman prattles on and I picture things I love. Pine trees, hot water, an axe through wood, wild flowers and the wind.

All of a sudden Pastel Ivory is pulling a name out of the boy's jar. She reads it and it comes to me in a haze.

"Leoporis Boxwoll!"

She grins like it's great news. And every head turns to the boy who moves forward from the crowd. I recognize Leo. He works a few sections over from me in the yard. He was close with my eldest brother, but we never really spoke.

He's tall and built lean. He was never much for cutting wood but he was damn good at fixing things. He has a hard cut jaw and two smoldering brown eyes that burn the rest of the crowd as he looks around and finally builds the courage to ascend the steps.

He joins Pastel on the stage and she turns.

"Ladies next!"

I fade out again. I close my eyes and try to pretend I'm somewhere lovely. On the top of a pine tree, inhaling all of its sweet odor. I stretch my fingers out to the clouds. I see a bird cutting the sky with its wings.

"Calla Aldjoy!"

I'm brought back to Earth with startling force. As though I've fallen from the tree and smacked against the ground. The wind rushes out of me. I look right, left –all I see is eyes. Pitying glances. Theta's tears are there somewhere. But if there's one thing I hate more than dresses, it's _pity_. So I steady myself. I push through the sad crowd like they're useless lily pads in a pond and make my way up to the stage.

Leoporis doesn't meet my eyes. And why should he? I come to stand by the woman's side and she holds up both of our arms. The crowd claps softly. It's a resigned, parting note from my home.

I try to be grateful. Better me go than someone who has something left for them here. Ever since I lost my father and brothers I've been meaningless. I work, I eat, I sleep. I don't have anything left to love, and nothing left to fight for. Once I'm in the arena, District 7 will just have to watch on as I run right into the arms of whoever will kill me quickest.

Our mentor is called to the stage next. The escort's hand releases ours and she announces him with a flourish of her jeweled wrist.

"Thalon Galloway!"

He's a well known face around District 7. He won the 15th Hunger Games ten years earlier.

He's startlingly handsome, built appropriately like a tree. He comes to stand at the edge of the stage and clasps his hands in front of his waist. The sun catches the fair blonde hair along his jaw and the rest of it that comes a little above his shoulders. He was a Capitol favorite. He was rugged in the arena with his heavy arms and barrel chest, positively brutal. But blessed with chiseled good looks and a humble as pie attitude in the interviews. That persona stuck when he came back to District 7. He went back to work immediately and left the victor house for his family. He's always been a little too noble for my tastes.

We meet eyes before I rip mine away. The reality settles over me in waves. I take one last look at the tall arching pines in the distance and try to memorize everything I love about home.

Because this is the last time I'll ever see District 7.

* * *

**Hello there! c:**

**This is my rewrite of the 1st Quarter Quell and those involved. I'm using creative license, as a disclaimer. **

**Reviews are cherished and adored~**

**Enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

Leoporis and I are carted off. At the Justice Building we're separated from each other and put into rooms to let our families come to say goodbye.

No one comes to see me. I had a vague hope Theta might, but like I said, we're not friends. And I've never been the type to go out of my way to make acquaintances. I had my father and I had my brothers. I worked in the day and stayed indoors at night like an obedient citizen. Their company was enough. And when it was gone, I couldn't bring myself to leave the shadows of the home we shared.

So I sit in silence until the Peacekeepers come to collect me. They haul me out to the trains and the cameras buzz around like flies. I pass in a blur through the proceedings. The train swallows me in a slow churn of colors. Its evening and I come to stand in my car full of lavish things I've never even dreamt up in my wildest sleeps.

There are clothes in the closet. I siphon out what looks most comfortable. A pair of dark pants and a white top. Neither fit very well. I'm thin but muscular and the clothes clutch too tight to the feminine curves of strength that run from my shoulders to my feet. Of all the Districts, the workers of 7 are most often the best fed. The work is laborious, backbreaking and requires a good deal of brute strength and thus adequate caloric intake. I'm not excessively fed, but I'm at least healthy looking. Right up until you get to my eyes. They're soulless and blink at me pale blue in the glass.

I drift silent from the room and to the dining car. I realize I haven't spoken a word to anyone in hours. In fact, I haven't uttered a word since I spoke to Theta early in the morning. It seems like a lifetime ago. It's probably for the best, I think. If anything came out of my mouth prematurely it would have burned like poison.

Pastel is all grins and too-white teeth as she stands from the table in the dining car to greet me.

"Calla, you look lovely," she gushes and instructs me to sit in chair.

I don't acknowledge her. I slide into my seat across from Leoporis and we stare at each other for a long moment before he goes back to his food. Pastel sits down, a little off put and frowns into her plate.

"Show some manners," someone murmurs from beside me.

I finally notice Thalon. He looks rather composed in a white shirt and dark pants. His hair is smoothed back and the scruff on his jaw trimmed a bit. I've never looked at him this closely before. The handsome face is just as disarming as the women of District 7 swear –but it's just a covering. A gossamer sheet over the war underneath. No victor comes from the Games unscathed. Thalon must hide his demons better than most. But they're definitely there.

I ignore him too and become aware of how hungry I am. I reach for a biscuit in the center of the table. A hand reaches out and grabs my wrist. I try to jerk my arm away but the vice of Thalon's grip is sure. A muscle in his forearm flexes. We meet eyes, the look in his is softer than mine but firm enough to make my blood boil.

"Let go of me," I hiss.

Thalon's lip curls a little. I give one last jerk and he releases me, but his gaze is unrelenting.

"Fine," I hiss and send a blazing look at Pastel who shrinks away from it, "_Thanks_."

She sniffs pointedly and doesn't reply. Leoporis snorts but doesn't meet my eyes and I can feel Thalon's anger seeping in waves from beside me. I can't find an appropriate emotion again so I decide to stay quiet. I reach back for the biscuit and tear it in half, shoving one full piece in my mouth. It's good, but it's bitter because I know where it comes from. Pastel makes a face at my chewing. Once I'm finished with the bite I reward her disgusted look with a belch. Leoporis smirks a bit, but otherwise remains dutifully mute.

Dinner is quiet after that. When the screenings of the reapings come on Pastel makes us watch. I don't care much about the other tributes. Their faces pass in front of me one by one until they cease to become faces and just an array of features instead. The footage of District 7 comes up and I watch myself hear my name. I look composed and harsh. I lift my chin, close my lips into a tight line, and walk up onto the stage. The wind blows around the white of my dress. Leoporis searches for his loved ones in the crowd as Pastel raises both of our arms.

I stare straight ahead.


	3. Chapter 3

I sleep like a baby that night. I sleep so well that I'm up before the world is moving the next morning. I dress myself and pull my hair back from my face. The scent of breakfast already served in the dining car has made its way down to my section. My stomach gives a greedy growl. If these are my last few days, I might as well enjoy them.

First things first –gorge myself on Capitol delicacies.

I arrive in the dining car and am met with disappointment. Apparently I'm not the first awake this morning. Thalon sits at the table with a bit of bread and a bowl of something warm and smelling of cinnamon. His presence unnerves me. He's too well-put together. He always has been. Too handsome, too strong, too _still_ on the inside. His calm ocean aggravates the volcano inside me. I press my mouth closed to prevent myself from saying anything and I sit across from him without meeting his eyes.

I feel him staring as I load my plate up. Sizziling meat with fat dripping onto the white cloth, pastries, chocolate, eggs, hearty slices of bread. I begin to devour my feast. Just when I think I'm in the clear and Thalon has decided to not engage, his deep voice breaks through the sounds of my chewing.

"I'm surprised you can stomach all that."

It might have been cordial had we not been such opposite forces.

I swallow my bite bitterly, "I can stomach a good deal."

There's a pause. I wash down the chocolate in my throat with cold water.

"You don't seem nearly as rattled as most," he observes.

I finally lift my eyes to meet his. His are stark blue. Too blue. Painful to stare into for too long.

"I'm not," I say and stab a piece of sausage on my plate with a bit more force than necessary.

"Why?"

"I'm prepared to die," I say it so simply it even surprises me. My voice is sure but before the words even leave my lips a shudder of revulsion passes through me.

Thalon's fair brow knits, "Is life so meaningless to you?"

I think about my life. What it turned into after I lost my family. It was routine, and it was sustainable, but it wasn't really living. I drifted through District 7 and took my anger out on the stiff trunks of pine trees. What was worth preserving?

I don't have any words to answer his question. And I don't like where this conversation is going. I swallow the bite of meat and it falls to the bottom of my stomach like a stone. Thalon continues to question me.

"What about home? If you wont fight for yourself, what about the people of District 7?"

I laugh. It's an icy, harsh sound.

"My loyalties to the people of District 7 don't lie as deeply as yours do, Thalon."

His nostrils flare. Good. I hope I've insulted him. He can take his damn honor and decency somewhere else. I'm not impressed by it. The people of District 7 will suffer under the Capitol whether I win or not, I can't bring myself to feel passionate for them.

"You're a very ungrateful young woman," Thalon retorts. I see a muscle in his jaw tighten but otherwise he remains composed.

I start to feed off his flickering anger. I feel it churning inside myself. But in me, it doesn't flicker. It roars.

"To be ungrateful implies that one has been given something," I say and my fork clatters to my plate, "All I've ever had is things taken _away." _

Thalon's voice matches my volume.

"You're supposed to be grateful for what you already have -you have a home, a job, a community."

"You don't know anything about me!" I'm yelling now. And somehow I've managed to stand up from the table. The conversation has taken a turn for the worst. It spirals in rings of hot flame.

Thalon's voice quiets again, "I know you are the best worker in your sector. I know you're strong with an axe. And I know you lost your father and both of your brothers just a year ago and you didn't let it destroy you."

This shuts me up for a minute. So he continues.

"You're strong enough to win this, Calla. If not for yourself, and not for your people, then at least for your family."

The rage in me boils over. I shove my chair back and it hits the floor with a loud crash. Pastel and Leoporis are suddenly in the room. I barely noticed them entering. They stay silent and off to the corner.

"Don't you dare bring my family into this," I yell. I can hear blood rushing in my ears.

"Calla, listen-"

"No, _you_ listen. I'm sorry to be a disappointment but I plan on jumping headlong into the first spear I see in the arena and there's not a thing you can do to stop me."

Pastel stiffens in the corner.

"How can you be so aloof?" Thalon stands from his chair. The quiet anger in him is reaching its peak too. His shadow overtakes me. He's a hulking presence, he looms over me with brilliant blue eyes.

"Because I don't care about any of this!" I refuse to back down.

Thalon slams his fist down on the table. The resounding bang of the hit upsets the glasses and plates.

"You _have_ to care!"

And with that, I'm finished with him. I take a step back and glare at him. The shockwave of our altercation resonates through the floors and then passes. Pastel moves forward to try and quell the situation but it fizzles out without her.

"Save the nobility for someone else, Thalon. You worry about you and I'll look after myself," I start for the door, "I'm making your job easier. You should be thanking me."

"Calla, what are you thinking?" Pastel snaps after me.

I leave the dining car before she can follow and Thalon lets me have the last word.

Leoporis and I meet eyes before I pass through the threshold but again we find nothing to say to each other. He looks away first. As if staring at me less now will somehow make it less horrible when he has to consider killing me later.

I walk straight to my car without stopping and shut myself inside. The quick explosion at breakfast has left me numb. I refuse to feel anything. I sit numbly at the foot of a bed that isn't mine and stare at the wall.

A few hours pass and the first signs of the Capitol start to roll past the window. I stand by the glass and watch as people fill the streets. The bright colors and grinning teeth make me sick to my stomach. An eager camera flashes near the window.

I close the curtains.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as we get to the Capitol I'm carted off to the Remake Center to prepare. It's quite an ordeal. Unpleasant is an understatement. And I'm not shy about expressing my distaste for it. My prep-team is less than pleased with me. They enjoy waxing the hair off of my legs a little too much after they endure my temper tantrum.

The first, and arguably the one in charge, is Iovita. She's a slight young woman, probably only three or so years older than me. Her hair is shock green and her eyelashes are too long to be real. Other than that she's fairly normal. She's quiet but firm. The other woman is Zenais who's her opposite. She's thicker set, with a wild mane of red hair that sparkles whenever she moves. She has dark swirls of tattoos flowering up from the collar of her dress to the bone of her jaw. She's loud. And she likes me the least. Thales is the only male of the group. He's as loud as Zenais but less decorated. His skin is a deep turquoise, as if he's been drowned before and his skin never got the blood back.

When the three have finished preparing me I feel like a skinned vegetable. Waxed, rubbed, spritzed, pulled, tugged –everything is _sore_. They set my hair in soft gold curls with inlays of green foliage and my face has remained more or less neutral. A little gold play on the eyes, minimal red on my cheeks and a pink touch to my lips. And now, I'm sitting under three pairs of eyes.

They're staring so intently I want to start screaming. Ever since my fight with Thalon I feel like a tangled nerve ending. Being poked and prodded all day hasn't helped matters. My fingers go white around the edges of the chair they've sat me in.

"I just don't know," Iovita complains. I've never wanted to hit anyone more in my life.

All of a sudden the door opens. A tall, bony woman comes through with an elaborate train of black silk behind her. Her hair is white, cut close to her head. A gold tattoo decorates the left side of her face. Her lips are dark scarlet and her face is thin, flower-like. She greets me crisply, but not darkly.

"Calla, good to finally meet you. My name is Tryphosa, I'm your stylist," she comes forward and the prep team separates to let her through. Her white hand extends to me. I stare at it. I consider biting it off.

The others look horrified by my lack of respect, and it almost makes me smile. But my stylist is unmoved. Tryphosa retracts her hand and looks me over with a bird-like tilt of her head.

"What's the hold up?" her question is directed at the team.

"Her teeth," Zenais snaps.

She stares daggers at me. I return them.

"Open your mouth," Tryphosa instructs.

I do so, lest she force me. She inspects my teeth. With the vocalization of the prep team, I know what's stumping them. Ever since my adult teeth came in I've had a gap between the front two. Correcting it was a luxury no one in District 7 would have ever been able to afford. It certainly wasn't on the priority list during my childhood, or from then on. I grew up not caring one bit. Frankly, I liked my gap.

"We could correct it in a matter of seconds, but we wanted your approval," Thales says and bows his head a bit.

The comment rubs my irritated temper. The Capitol's lack of tact never ceases to amaze me. Neither does their vanity.

I meet Tryphosa's flickering, black eyes.

"Keep it," she says after a moment.

"Keep it?" Zenais guffaws.

Tryphosa taps my chin and I take it as a cue to close my mouth. She turns back on the prep team.

"Yes, look at her."

She comes forward and takes my hands, lifting me from the chair. She circles my body.

"The sharpness of her face, the musculature, this _look _in her eyes," she stops in front of me to observe, "It's too harsh. She'll scare away potential sponsors."

This almost makes me smile. I hold the gesture back as Tryphosa continues.

"The gap makes her human, it makes her desirable," Tryphosa smirks at me before become stern once more and turning back to the prep team, "The Capitol will eat it up. Keep the gap."

I might like Tryphosa. I like her better than my prep team, anyway. Thankfully she relieves them and we're left alone together. She readies my outfit quietly. I shift in the chair. My curls wobble around my jaw. I'm still angry about being prodded and want to pick a fight. So I break the silence.

"What's the theme this year? Bark dress and leaf hat?"

"Not quite," I hear a smirk in her voice.

"I hate dresses," I inform her like a childish brat.

"Good. Then you'll like this."

I let her dress me a little begrudgingly. But when she's finished she spins me around and I finally get a look in a mirror. It's the first glimpse of myself I've gotten all day. I don't recognize the girl staring back at me. She has big blue eyes, outlined by thick lashes and brown, sparkly powder. Her hair is like frozen ribbons of honey and leaves caress the strands as if she's born from the woods themselves.

The outfit is spectacular. I was wrong to have misjudged Tryphosa's talent. The bottom half consists of a pair of brown leather shorts that stop mid-thigh. It's finely sewed material. Tight and tough, just a touch of shine. Matching leather boots come up to meet the bare skin left by the shorts. Vines wrap around them and leaves collect at my ankles. The top is the same dark material; it rounds over my chest and stops at the tops of my ribs. Tryphosa has left my most intimidating aspects bare. My strong arms and the finely muscled surface of my abdomen make for a striking image. It's a simple ensemble. But it's effective. I look like some time of woodland warrior from a storybook.

For a moment, I'm stunned speechless. I can't find myself in the reflection. The hair, the eyes, the glowing skin, the revealing clothes –my mouth drops open softly and I get a fleeting glimpse of the gap between my teeth. I hold onto the image for dear life. It's the last part of me that remains true. Suddenly, I've decided I like Tryphosa if only because she let me keep it.

"Stunning," she murmurs from over my shoulder.

"Thanks," I say, and for the first time I think I actually mean it.

She squeezes my arm.

"Don't forget to smile."


	5. Chapter 5

Leoporis and I don't see each other until we're side by side in the chariot waiting to be paraded through the Capitol. His stylist, a man named Varius, chose a greener theme for him. I feel a little guilty standing next to him.

He looks rather comical in his leafy ensemble with eye-smarting trousers and a dark green vest. The haunting quality of his deep eyes is somewhat diminished –and by the tight shape of his mouth I think he might sense this. His outfit doesn't do him much justice in the intimidation department. It might have been passable had he not been standing next to me, a dark warrior in tight brown leather.

We don't speak as we come to stand next to one another. I have to assume it's not uncommon for tributes not to speak to each other. Being cordial isn't really appropriate. Any kind words that could be exchanged are empty -what are you supposed to say to someone who might be dead in a week? Especially when their death might be at your own hands.

I give him a nod anyway and he returns it. The announcers start to call the tributes chariots in order. In front of our chariot in waiting I see the backs of District 6 with silver roadmaps drawn over their tight bodysuits. I heart the roar of the crowd start up. Music playing. Cameras whirring. They call the first in line out and my entire body stiffens. Before I know it District 6 has pulled out. Leoporis and I are next.

There's no way to prepare for the sensation of being dragged out into the adoring eyes of the Capitol. The people are in such _magnitude_. It's all I can do to keep from gasping as our chariot pulls out and the thunderous applause momentarily deafens me. The roadway is wide, but the tributes are the only ones privileged enough to grace it. The rest of the public stands off to the side in massive, sky-scraping seating arrangements. The crowd is a disjunctive array of outlandish colors and white teeth. The noise is overwhelming.

A few roses are thrown in our direction. As Leoporis and I are pulled to the middle of the stadium the screens overhead depict our faces. I see myself as unfamiliar once more. Billowing over the Capitol is a young woman with murderous blue eyes and a scowl that drips poison down the rest of her tight fitted ensemble. I remember Tryphosa's instructions. _Don't forget to smile_.

I clench my jaw and decide to keep my mouth shut. I have no one too impress. I don't need to try and make this people love me. I won't need sponsors in the arena. I'll make sure I don't last long enough. So I keep the darkness etched into my face. And Leoporis surprisingly follows my lead. The crowd hushes as we are pulled past them. I can almost hear Thalon in my head reprimanding me.

I think of my family as our chariot pulls up in a half-moon around the center podium where President Amber sits. I think of my father, his pale blue eyes and his heavy arms. If he was still alive, would he watch? Or would he have to look away? And my brothers –fair haired and always so protective. How would they like to see their sister paraded around like this? My stomach twists.

It continues to wrap in knots as all twelve chariots come to complete the half-moon and I take my first real glimpses of the other tributes. For perhaps the first time since the calling of my name at the reaping, my knees feel weak. The tributes from Districts 1 and 2 are built like killers. They grin with flickering white teeth that look more like fangs under the heavy light. From there on the tributes get smaller, weaker. There's a boy from District 4 that looks so much like my brother it hurts. A little girl from District 9. A girl close to my age in District 11 wiping her frightened eyes as subtly as she can under the harsh glow of the public's adoration.

President Amber stands to give his annual speech but I don't hear a word of it. I keep looking around at the group of kids standing together. That's what we are. Just kids. Children. Dressed up lambs readying for the slaughter. I think I might be physically ill for a moment and I lean on the bar of the chariot. Leoporis's eyes flicker over to me but he doesn't say anything. I'm glad he holds his tongue. His quiet, firm presence does the trick.

It's enough to get me through the speech. But when the chariots start to pull back around my knuckles are still white on the bar. I try to escape once more. The tall buildings of the Capitol are replaced by thick pine trees. The sky overhead blue, full of clouds and birdsongs. I smell wood shavings and smoke and feel the warmth from the wood floors of my home in the summer time. Having Leoporis helps –he's one part of home that hasn't been taken away from me yet. I steady myself by his side with daydreams until we've unloaded from the chariots and are separated to be undressed.

I block out all sensation once again and barely notice when we arrive at our living arrangements for the remainder of our stay in the Capitol. It's so lavish its sickening to look at, like the food too rich to stomach, Thalon's eyes too blue to stare into. I'm given a moment to myself to shower before dinner.

I have missed my solitude dearly. I sweep right into the room that Pastel guides me to and leave her open mouthed at the door, ready to say something else. The door slams before she gets the chance.

I move past the luxurious furniture, the marble floors, the silk canopy over the bed and the scenery at the window. I find the shower and wrench open the glass covering. I don't have a clue how to work it. But it hardly matters. I sink to my knees in the glistening, cream stone basin before I even muster the energy to take my clothes off. The water shoots out like ice. It soaks my clothes, my hair and the mask of makeup across my face. The black and brown starts to slide down my cheeks. I rub all evidence of it away. I rub my face until I'm raw and can't feel my fingers any more. I lay at the bottom of the shower and consider it my icy tomb.

After a few minutes pass I gather the strength to remove my clothes and actually bathe. My legs feel slippery and unsteady like a new foal. I leave the shower as quickly as possible and find an outfit in yet another extensive closet. A dark vest and pants set that covers me up as fully as possible. I'm through being paraded around half naked. I let my hair hang messy and soaking wet and leave the room without ever getting a good look at it.

Dinner is served in an elaborate dining room. Tryphosa and Varius are there, along with Pastel and Leoporis. I give a lingering thought to Thalon before I detect his presence behind me. He smells of wood and the forest. It makes my stomach turn for a moment and I quicken my pace, vaguely aware of his hand about to touch my shoulder. We both sit down at opposite ends of the table and I lower my eyes to my food.

It's almost nice to have Tryphosa and Varius at the table. They're able to appease Pastel's appetite for conversation more than the rest of us. Leoporis and I are allowed to remain silent. Thalon interjects every so often but his shoulders are hunched and tense. The only people who are really enjoying the festivities today are the ones from the Capitol.

Again after the food is done we're all crowded around the television. Pastel, Varius and Tryphosa take the couch. Leoporis stands over to the side. I stand in the back of the room. Thalon joins me. The broadcast starts and I lean against the wall with my arms crossed over my chest.

The immensity of the venue is poorly portrayed by the camera work. The roar of the crowd is nothing compared to being in the center of it all, but it's enough to send shivers down my spine. The commentators jabber excitedly as the first chariots start to roll down the aisle. Theodore Bellest leads the decorated pack. He's the host of the Hunger Games and has been for as long as I can remember. He's white skinned and gifted with a wide mouth and silver eyes. His hair is piled onto his head in a silver pompadour.

I don't pay much attention to him until Leoporis and I are suddenly on screen.

"Woah, and look at _these_ two," Theodore gushes, "District 6 looks fabulous this year. I love that green vest, the whole green ensemble is very forest-esque."

"And look at her," the woman commentator beside him touches his arm and points.

"My, my, my, what's her name again? Calla, right? Isn't she _something_," Theodore agrees, "That costume is quite a statement. She looks ruthless."

"She's the same one that didn't even bat an eye at the reaping."

"Wouldn't want to meet her in the arena."

And just like that Leoporis and I are forgotten. District 8 comes after us, then the others in slow procession. I watch all the faces pass. Each one his sharp as it hits me. For the first time their faces are people and not features. Children. Lambs. Most of them will be corpses in a weeks time.

Leoporis leaves the room. I feel cold.

"Calla," Thalon whispers from beside me. His hand touches the inside of my arm. It sends a shockwave through me. I feel his eyes on my profile.

"You're trembling," he observes.

I rip out of his grasp.

"I'm fine."

I storm out of the room before anyone even notices Leoporis is gone. Pastel and the stylists can't seem to rip their eyes away from the screen. I march down the hallway. My body aches for my bed. My mind aches for numbness.

Leoporis appears from behind a corner. I stop short. His dark brown eyes flicker in the dark.

"You should be kinder to him," he says.

Anyone else, I would have snapped at. But these are the first words I've heard Leoporis speak. It might be beneficial to listen.

"He's had to watch his tributes die year after year," he lowers his eyes and then turns, "He's just looking out for us."

Our conversation is over. And I don't bother to pursue it. Besides, Leoporis is right. I retreat to my room a little guiltily. Thalon's nobility is not there to annoy me. It's there because Thalon is perhaps one of the strongest people of District 7. He survived his own games and from then on has managed to say sane, healthy, and purposeful despite being surrounded by death continuously. Despite the heavy responsibility of death. Children's death. Lamb's death.

I bury my head under my pillow and hide under the covers once I return to my room. The darkness surrounds me. I turn my mind off. I refuse to feel, to think or to wonder. But I do not sleep. I drift hollowly in nothingness until morning finds me.


End file.
